


Lockers

by sara_holmes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After it happens, Harry spends hours trying to justify why he didn’t just leave whilst he had a chance, or why he didn’t at least turn away. Every excuse, explanation, denial is formed and tossed half-heartedly away, because even if he does find something that justifies why he didn’t leave, he can’t then explain why that justification didn’t occur to him at the time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lockers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Draco/Theo story that Harry stumbles across, with some sneaky implications. Thank you to Brittany and Faye for helping me get this going. Much love.

After _it_ happens, Harry spends hours trying to justify why he didn’t just leave whilst he had a chance, or why he didn’t at least turn away. Every excuse, explanation, denial is formed and tossed half-heartedly away, because even if he does find something that justifies why he didn’t leave, he can’t then explain why that justification didn’t occur to him at the time.

After _it_ happens, he sits in an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, trying desperately to rationalise what he’s just done. He can’t forget. Forgetting isn’t an option. Every time he closes his eyes, every time he so much as _blinks_ he can see it, and it makes the back of his neck prickle and the rest of his body feel too hot. He feels dirty; embarrassment and something else crawling across his skin.

He doesn’t dare look up or make eye-contact with anyone, and it only takes Ron and Hermione a few minutes to work out that something has happened. They question him gently, exchange mystified glances, and Harry continues to stare at the floor because he can’t help but think that if they look him in the eye they’ll use Legillimency and _know_ what he’s seen.

Which brings him neatly back around to remembering what he did see, the memory wrapped up messily in shame and shock and that horrid something else that he refuses to look at.

* * *

 

“Theo, just _stop!_ Look-” 

The voice rings out through the room and Harry nearly has a heart attack, grabbing his wand and whipping around. The clothes that he was about to put into his locker slip and tumble to the tiled floor, but Harry ignores them and is instead listening intently. He waits for someone to walk into the room but for whatever reason they don’t; they remain in the foyer where the broom racks and spare pieces of kit are kept, their voices carrying clearly through the door that Harry didn’t bother to shut properly.

“Oh for goodness sake – leave me alone! Take a hint, Draco. I don’t want to talk to you!”

Harry’s brow furrows; he’s realised who the arguing people are, and he’s immediately intrigued. He stays perfectly still, breathing shallowly and curious to know why the two Slytherins are arguing.

“Theo,” Draco says, and he sounds exasperated. “Come on. Talk to me.”

“I’m going flying,” Theo says firmly, but Harry can tell his voice is shaking. “Go away.”

“I’ll come with you,” Draco suggests, and there’s the dull shuffle of footsteps and the rustle of fabric.

“I came down here to _avoid_ you, what part of that don’t you understand?!” Theo cries, sounding as angry as Harry had ever heard him. In all honesty though, Harry isn’t sure he’s ever heard Theo speak so much in one go. He’s normally very quiet, watching the world go by from under his mousey brown fringe that he’s always pushing out of his eyes.

Silence follows. Draco doesn’t answer right away, and Harry itches to see what’s happening. He slowly, slowly, bends to pick up his robes and slides them into his locker, carefully shutting it so it doesn’t make a sound. With the locker closed, he can now see the door, just beyond the blue stack of lockers that belong to the Ravenclaw team.

“I want to talk to you,” Draco says quietly, and Theo laughs bitterly in return.

“And you always get what you want, right?”

Suddenly there are footsteps, and Harry realises that Theo is heading his way. He doesn’t even stop to think about it; he just dives across the room into a shower cubicle, yanking the shower curtain over the entrance to the cubicle and flicking his wand in a hurriedly cast notice-me-not charm. He and Draco Malfoy are painfully civil to each other these days, but Harry doesn’t want to get involved when there’s quite clearly something tense going on. He still wouldn’t trust Draco not to curse him if he was riled, and by the sounds of things, things are quickly escalating between him and Theo.

Through a crack between the curtain and tiles, Harry sees Theo stride into the room, marching over to the green set of lockers that are furthest away from the door. He holds his breath, and sure enough Draco follows Theo in, his boots echoing on the tiled floor. He stops and leans against the Gryffindor lockers, eyes on Theo’s back.

“Go away,” Theo says, voice trembling as he reaches for his locker and taps his wand against it to open it. Draco doesn’t move, and Harry is itching to know what is happening here. It’s strange to see Draco like this, when he has no idea that Harry is watching him. It’s almost like he’s seeing a different person, one he’s never met before.

“If you wanted me to go you’d hex me,” Draco says belligerently, and Harry winces at the tone. He’s not heard it in a while and it reminds him exactly of who Draco Malfoy used to be.

Theo snorts, sceptical. “And give you an excuse to curse me back with something worse? I’m not an idiot, Draco.”

“I wouldn’t,” Draco says adamantly, and takes a step forwards. “Look-”

“I don’t want to _look_ ,” Theo says fiercely, pulling his Quidditch robes off of their hanger before turning to glare at Draco. “I’m trying to get changed, if you don’t mind.”

Draco just stares back. “Nothing I’ve not seen before,” he says, and Harry tenses at the way he says it. It could simply mean that they’ve gotten changed together for Quidditch before, but the look on Draco’s face is making Harry think that there’s something else going on here. His throat goes dry.

Theo clutches his robes in both hands, looking somewhere between furious and upset. “Go away,” he repeats, but his voice is shaking worse than ever. “I’m not – I don’t want to.”

“Liar,” Draco argues, taunting. He’s still standing casually against the lockers, arms folded across his chest.

“I’m not a liar,” Theo snaps, turning his back on Draco. “I don’t want you anymore.”

“Liar,” Draco repeats, and unfolds his arms, walking across the space between them. The look on his face sets Harry’s nerves on edge; he’s seen that look before. It’s very close to the one that Draco used to give him when Harry had bested him – refusing to accept defeat, determined to get his own back in any horrid way he could-

He steps up to Theo and Harry holds his breath, fingers tightening on his wand.  For a split second, he thinks Draco is going to grab Theo by the back of his robes, or he’s going to pull his wand on him. He’s ready to intervene if he has to, but then Draco simply gently touches Theo on the back of his neck, fingers stroking his skin. Theo jerks away, turning around and grabbing Draco’s wrist. Harry’s never really noticed it before, but now they’re stood together, he realises just how tall Draco Malfoy is.

“You’re not listening,” Draco says, and his voice has gone quiet and soft and strange. “I just wanted-”

“I know what you wanted, it’s what you always want,” Theo says, sounding frustrated. “I don’t want to, okay? You can’t bully me into doing what you want anymore-”

Draco frowns at that. “I don’t bully you,” he says, sounding oddly defensive.

“You bully everyone!” Theo exclaims. “You’ve never asked for anything nicely in your life! And the worst thing is that you don’t even know you’re doing it, and you don’t understand that you’d probably get what you want more quickly by being nice!”

He throws Draco’s hand away from him and turns back to his locker, kicking his shoes off, which hit the bottom lockers with dull thuds. Draco watches him, mouth slightly open and looking very much like he wants to hit Theo. He doesn’t; Harry can practically see the cogs turning as he thinks, his face shifting into something more careful and calculating as he changes his approach.

“Please?”

Theo laughs, the sound bitter. “About two years too late, Draco.”

“Please,” Draco repeats. “I – I just don’t know how to do this without…”

“Bullying?” Theo offers, and Harry see’s Draco’s jaw clench.

“Fine. Bullying. I was never taught how to get my own way without bullying. There. I said it.”

Draco steps away and Harry watches in amazement as Theo turns to look at him, his angry expression melting into uncertainty. He looks Draco over and then shakes his head, looking torn and turning away. “Look I know – I know what it was like with your father. But that’s not an excuse.”

Harry almost misses the fleeting look of frustration that passes over Draco’s face, it’s so quick. It vanishes within seconds, back to that soft look that Harry doesn’t quite trust to be genuine. He watches as Draco reaches out and slips his hand onto Theo’s neck, his palm against his skin. He murmurs ‘ _please_ ’ again, and this time Theo doesn’t throw him off.

Harry isn’t sure when he realised that there was something distinctly sexual going on here, but it’s at this point that he realises that he really, really shouldn’t be watching this. Up until now, his fascination and intrigue has overridden any sense of discourtesy, but as Draco leans in and gently breathes over the back of Theo’s neck, he thinks that maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Draco,” Theo says, and he shuts his eyes.

“Please,” Draco whispers again. “Just one last time. I don’t want to give you up yet – I don’t know what I’m going to do when I can’t – when we can’t. Once more.”

His voice is soft and coaxing and it makes a strange shiver go down Harry’s spine, and he can’t look away. Oh god, is Draco going to kiss Theo? He’s never seen two blokes kiss before – he’s never even really thought about it as a possibility.

And then Draco’s mouth touches the back of Theo’s neck, and Harry feels at once hot and cold all over. He turns his face away, feeling an uncomfortable hot flush working its way up his neck, and then he hears the rustle of robes, a dull tud and muffled gasp.

Not wanting to, but completely unable to stop himself, he looks back.

His stomach tightens and he forgets how to breathe because Theo now has his back pressed against the lockers and Draco is pressed right up against him and they are _kissing_. Oh god, they’re kissing, and Draco has his mouth open and over Theo’s and his jaw is moving and Harry can see the wet flicker of a tongue-

It’s too warm. Harry feels like his face is on fire and the sounds of them kissing, wet and filthy, are far too loud. He tries to swallow but he can’t, because he’s still watching and he doesn’t know why, he only knows that he can’t look away. Draco’s hands are on either side of Theo’s neck now, holding him in place as he takes and takes.

And then one hand leaves Theo’s neck and drifts down his side, moving to his stomach and pushing his robes aside-

“No,” Theo says against Draco’s mouth, struggling to still Draco’s hand. “No more, not tonight-”

“But I want you so much,” Draco says, pleading. “I always want you so much, more than anyone-”

“It’s not just me you want though, is it,” Theo says, sounding bitter. “You settle for me because _he_ won’t ever have you.”

Draco recoils like Theo has hit him, and Harry thinks that the hurt on his face is genuine. “I-” he begins, and then he shifts slightly, snatching the control of the situation back almost effortlessly. “Come on, don’t tell me it’s only me that you want,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and Theo flushes. “I know you’d rather have Blaise-”

“Don’t,” Theo says fiercely. “You said you wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Come on,” Draco repeats, brushing his mouth over Theo’s. “You know you like what we do – and this way, if we ever get who we want, then we’ll know. Just think – if he ever did come to you, you’d know enough, you’d be able to give him more than any girl could, and you’d be able to say yes to anything he wanted, without being scared because you’ve done it before-”

Harry’s mouth falls open slightly at Draco’s audacity; it’s sheer manipulation and Draco’s not even being subtle. Theo isn’t responding, but then Draco bends his knees slightly so he can lean in and kiss Theo’s neck and he turns his head to the side, giving Draco better access.

Discomfort works its way through Harry’s chest and it clashes horribly with the too-warm feeling that sits there under his sternum. Theo hasn’t said yes – in fact, he said no and still Draco is pushing and pushing and taking what he wants, coercing Theo into doing something he’s said he doesn’t really want.

And then Draco pushes Theo’s robes off his shoulders and reaches for his tie. And Harry forgets about morals – he forgets how to form coherent thoughts because Draco is yanking Theo’s tie loose and throwing it to the floor, and then unbuttoning his shirt with swift dexterity. Harry’s finding it hard to breathe because he’s trying to be quiet and each breath is coming out far too much like a gasp for him to feel comfortable about it.

He lifts his wand, and mouths the incantation for a one-way silencing charm. The curtain flutters slightly as the charm takes hold, but Draco and Theo are far too busy to notice. Harry exhales heavily, shakily, feeling his face burn with shame. He feels a horrid, morbid curiosity within him, heating his body to uncomfortable temperatures, making him feel strangely queasy but also…

He almost chokes as he realises that the as-yet-unnamed feeling is arousal. He hasn’t recognised it yet because it feels different, all sliced up with shame and embarrassment and discomfort. Harry’s mortified enough to take a stumbling step backwards; how can he be aroused by what he’s seeing? It’s wrong on _so_ many levels, and it’s _Draco Malfoy_ out there, manipulating Theo for his own ends.

Oh fuck, it’s no good because he can still hear them. He can hear clothing rustling and heavy breathing and cut off gasps, and the metallic thudding of the lockers they’re against. He doesn’t want to look back, he won’t look, he’ll just silence the cubicle completely and sit here facing the wall until they’ve gone-

He lifts his wand, but doesn’t cast. He just stands there, listening and trembling from head to foot. For fuck’s sake, he’s _Harry Potter_ , he’s never been in such a state that his brain can’t even make basic decisions. He always knows what to do, and here he is, rendered useless by Draco sodding Malfoy.

A sharp cry makes his pulse surge, and he lowers his wand. Breathing shakily, he steps back to look through the gap, and feels humiliation tear him up from the inside. It’s quickly joined by an unwelcome but unmistakable jolt of arousal; Theo and Draco are both now naked from the waist up, clothes draped on the floor around them. Draco’s hand – Harry can barely believe it, oh god – is jammed down the front of Theo’s trousers.

“Lock the door,” Draco demands as he pushes his hand further into Theo’s trousers, his whole hand now obviously palming his prick. Theo doesn’t react, he just screws his eyes shut, gasping and scrabbling for purchase against Draco’s arms.

Draco makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and tugs his hand free. Still gasping, Theo looks down and watches weakly as Draco kneels down, searching in his discarded robes, presumably for his wand. Harry’s eyes follow the length of Draco’s spine, across the expanse of skin on his back. He can’t help but stare at the subtle shift of muscle as Draco reaches for his wand, using it to shut and lock the door.  He then holds out his free hand for Theo to take, and Harry can tell by the look on his face that he expects Theo to take it without question.

Theo does, instantly and immediately, and Draco’s face turns triumphant for a moment, open and greedy. God, Harry’s never seen such a look, is sure he’s never seen such lust on a person’s face before. There’s really no question as to who is in charge here, and Draco looked delighted to finally be the one calling the shots.

Harry watches as Draco lays Theo out on the floor, kissing his collarbone and his chest, his hand skimming across the flat planes of Theo’s body. Even though he’s watching, Harry tries not to _look_ , but he can’t help but notice minute details that he shouldn’t. The faint outline of Draco’s ribs when he breathes particularly heavily. The way his body narrows slightly at his waist.  The trail of dark hair that leads from Theo’s bellybutton down to the waistband of his trousers.

And when Harry catches himself noticing Draco’s erection, which is clearly visible pushing against the dark material of his trousers, he’s completely mortified. He can feel his own cock swelling against his thigh, and contemplates turning the shower on and attempting to drown himself.

Draco kisses Theo messily, and then pulls away, panting. He reaches for Theo’s trousers and undoes them in several rushed, frantic movements, and then tries to coax Theo over onto his hands and knees. Theo pushes himself up onto his elbows, hesitating again.

“Come on,” Draco says, hands on Theo’s hips. “Shut your eyes. Imagine.”

Theo flushes bright red again and looks torn between complying and shouting at Draco. Draco leans in and presses an open mouthed kiss to Theo’s abdomen, and Theo exhales and nods, but he still looks unsure. “Do you have to…” he begins, and then looks embarrassed at Draco’s raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be such a prude,” Draco says, and Harry expects Theo to call him out on the return to his previous attitude but Theo doesn’t. He just nods again and lets Draco roll him over onto his front, limbs shaking and had bowed. Draco eyes him hungrily and doesn’t hesitate before yanking Theo’s trousers down to mid-thigh.

Harry feels like he could curl up and die; their positioning means he gets a fully unencumbered view of Theo’s pale arse and Draco’s hands rubbing over his cheeks, and by now he’s fully hard and wishing he’d never ever tried to avoid Ginny by going flying alone. _Why me,_ he thinks desperately, wondering why it’s always him who ends up in these unbelievable, ridiculous, life-changing situations.

“Relax,” Draco says to Theo, and Harry nearly chokes as Draco picks up his wand again. He watches as Draco casts a spell on his own hand, leaving his fingers shiny and slick. Harry’s eyes go even wider, because he knows that spell. Any bloke sixteen or above knows that charm, but he’s never seen it used like this before-

Draco doesn’t wait. He just slides his fingers up and down between Theo’s arsecheeks and when Theo doesn’t so much as flinch, Harry knows beyond a doubt they’ve done this before. Draco repeats the motion and then presses his fingertips against Theo’s arsehole.

“Good boy,” Draco soothes, and if Harry were in Theo’s position he would turn around and strangle Draco for being so patronising. His breath catches painfully in his chest and he watches as Draco slowly pushes a finger into Theo’s arse. The look on his face is going to be the death of Harry; he’s watching his own finger transfixed as he pulls it back, gleaming stickily in the light. He pushes in again, much deeper, and Theo moves, body shifting away from the finger.

“Lie down,” Draco says hoarsely, and Theo complies, lying flat on his stomach. Draco sprawls out on his side, leaning over the small of Theo’s back so his left elbow can touch the floor the other side of his body. He curves his arm around, holding one of Theo’s cheeks in his hand, and continues to watch as he fingers Theo with the other hand. Theo lies still, his face hidden in the pillow of his arms.

Draco is breathing unsteadily, his mouth slightly open and his eyes hidden by the fall of his white-blond fringe. Harry knows his breathing is just as uneven, and it hitches again as he watches Draco lean down and bite the soft swell of Theo’s arse. Theo shifts again, but it doesn’t seem to Harry like he’s trying to shift away anymore. Draco leans back slightly, his left hand moving, and he presses the tips of both forefingers to Theo’s hole, pushing against the resistance. Harry’s face is still burning and he reaches down desperately, pressing the heel of his palm against his own erection.

“For pity’s sake, Draco,” Theo says, sounding broken. “If you’re going to do it, just do it.”

“But you’re so much fun to play with,” Draco says, tone half-teasing, half-thoughtful. “I’m not done yet.”

Theo doesn’t argue, and Draco slides his finger back in, then leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss to Theo’s arsecheek, breathing out heavily against his skin. Harry can’t understand this obsession that Draco seems to have with Theo’s arse, and it’s making him uncomfortable and edgy and needy in a way he hopes he’ll never, ever have to articulate.

“Draco,” Theo breathes, and this time he definitely moves back towards Draco, as if asking for more.

“Theo,” Draco says as he continues to finger him, and it sounds like a reminder. “You said you would.”

Theo shakes his head and Draco leans down and licks him again, his tongue sliding wetly against Theo’s skin. “You said you would,” he repeats, and Harry thinks he can hear a hint of pleading in Draco’s tone.

“That was last time,” Theo says, and he sounds as uncomfortable as Harry feels. “And you – afterwards, you got all upset-”

“Please,” Draco says, and one hand drifts down to unbuckle his own belt. “I won’t get upset. I’ve never told Blaise about you, you know that, and you’re the only one who knows about me and-”

“Alright,” Theo says, breathing in and out heavily. _“Malfoy.”_

Draco groans at that, and then he’s flipping open the button on his trousers, shoving his hand into his own boxers and frantically rubbing his own prick for a moment before letting go of both himself and Theo to reach down and pull his boots off. The moment his feet are free he pulls his trousers down and kicks them off, stripping his socks off too. Harry barely has time to breathe and then Draco is pulling Theo’s trousers and boxers down and off, so he’s completely naked. God, this is what dormitories and beds are for, Harry thinks desperately. But he’s willing to bet they’re doing it here so Draco doesn’t risk Theo changing his mind in the time it would take to get back to the Slytherin dormitory.

Draco shoves his knees between Theo’s, pushing his legs apart. Harry’s eyes are once again on the shift of the muscle in his arms as he pulls his own boxers down and off. Harry’s brain dimly registers that he is seeing Draco Malfoy naked, and he realises he will never be able to look at him in the same way again. Every time he sees him he’ll know exactly what his clothes are covering, will be painfully aware that they are no more than a flimsy barrier between him and Draco’s body.

“Ready?” Draco asks, almost as an afterthought as he picks up his wand again, casting the charm for a second time. Theo nods and pushes himself back up onto his hands and knees, and Draco grunts in satisfaction. He runs his lubed palm the length of his prick and then reaches out and slips his finger back into Theo’s hole, biting his lip as he does.  He carries on, playing with Theo’s arse as he masturbates. Both hands are moving at the same pace, his finger pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust in.

After several long moments he stops, and with a thrill of trepidation Harry works out what’s coming next, and to his abject humiliation he realises that he wants to see it happen. His fingers press harder against his erection, and he feels every touch acutely, already aching for more.

Draco twists his wrist and pushes a second finger into Theo. Theo’s breath catches and Draco laughs breathlessly, before pulling his fingers free. He shifts back, taking himself in hand, and guides the head of his prick to Theo’s hole, gently pulling his foreskin back with his thumb and shuddering at the sensation. He takes a deep breath and then pushes his hips forwards, and Harry can see the way the muscles in his back and arse flex with the movement.

Theo cries out brokenly, his back arching. Panting, Draco grabs his hips and yanks him back, and this time Theo’s cry is definitely one of pain. Draco doesn’t seem to care. He shoves forwards, shoulders leaning back, and his face is tilted down so he can see his dick shoving roughly into Theo’s hole.

“Come on,” he pants, grip on Theo’s hips turning vicious and leaving red crescents from his nails. “You’re not doing it right.”

“Malfoy,” Theo cries out, and Harry’s spine prickles uncomfortably; he’s sure he’s missing something here. _“Malfoy.”_

“Yes,” Draco groans, and his hips snap forth and back, and Theo reaches back to clutch Draco’s hip, urging him on. Draco pulls back far enough for his prick to slip free from Theo’s body, and Harry has a split-second in which he can see Theo’s hole gaping open and shiny with lube, and then Draco shoves himself back inside with a grunt, penetrating Theo all over again.  The wet, dirty noise it makes is obscene and makes Harry cringe. He looks away from Theo’s arse and up to Draco’s face; Draco is still watching himself fuck Theo wide open, and he slides his hands over Theo’s arse again, his thumbs digging in cruelly.

“Don’t,” Theo gasps as Draco’s thumbs slide closer to his hole, so they’re pressing against his own prick as he shoves back in with another disgustingly wet sound.

“Pussy,” he taunts breathlessly, and Harry feels an urge to smack him in his smart mouth.

“Not-” Theo tries to reply, but Draco’s next thrust knocks him off balance and the retort dies on his lips. Draco groans deeply and pushes in once more, and then his mouth falls open and his body goes rigid, and Harry’s humiliation is complete when he realises that he’s just watched Draco Malfoy come.

Gasping for breath, Draco pulls out, and Harry stares at his prick, still stiff and shiny with lube. Draco isn’t looking at his dick, he’s looking at Theo’s arse, and as Harry watches he reaches forwards and shoves a finger back into Theo’s come-filled hole.

Theo jerks away as if he’s been hit with a stinging hex, face bright red. “Don’t, he protests, turning over and sitting back, holding out a hand as if to keep Draco back. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Prude,” Draco says, cutting, and Theo blushes harder.

“I’m not,” he insists.

Draco gives him a look. “You’ll never get anyone else if you’re objecting to something as boring as fingering,” he says pointedly, and then swiftly changes his tone, possibly because of the mutinous look on Theo’s face. “Lie back then,” he coaxes. “I’ll finish you off.”

Theo eyes him for a moment and then nods, lying down on his back. Draco shoves his legs apart and lies down between them, one hand creeping up to take hold of Theo’s prick and lifting it away from his stomach. Harry’s stomach flips and he feels his prick twitch as Draco bows his head and takes the head of Theo’s prick into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Oh, god,” Theo sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “Malfoy.”

Harry has a perfect view of Malfoy’s face, although part of him wishes he didn’t. He can see the way he has his eyes closed, the tight stretch of his lips around Theo’s prick, the way his mouth leaves it wet with spit when he pulls back. He can see the way his nostrils flare as he breathes, bobbing his head harder and taking more of Theo’s prick into his mouth.

Suddenly, Theo’s back arches and he whines in the back of his throat, and as Draco’s shoulder blade shifts and moves Harry works out that Draco has got his fingers back where he wants them, and his stomach churns at the thought of Draco fingering his own come out of Theo’s arse. Theo doesn’t push him away, and soon his breathing is coming in short and unsteady gasps, and then his body goes rigid and he comes, Draco’s mouth working him through it.

Draco sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking. The familiar expression breaks something in Harry and he staggers backwards until his back hits the tiles at the back of the cubicle, unable to comprehend what he’s just done, what he’s just seen, what it all means.

He slowly slides down the wall of the shower, hands clutching his own knees, trying to ignore the way his prick is still thick and heavy against his thigh. He hears Draco and Theo moving, hears a few sentences tossed back and forth but he doesn’t process any words. He can barely believe that he’s just watched Draco Malfoy have sex, that he stood there and watched like some sort of dirty pervert.

He screws his eyes shut but all he can see against the insides of his eyelids is Draco Malfoy’s shoulders, and the flex of his arms and the look on his face as he slides his fingers into Theo’s hole.

He doesn’t move for quite some time, not even when Theo and Draco leave, barely speaking to one another as they exit the room, leaving it silent and still. Harry stays exactly where he is on the cold, wet tiles and wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at his own reflection - or Draco’s face - ever again.


End file.
